


Fleshmarket Close

by DeanRH



Category: Caledonia (Web Series), Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, Travel, World Travel, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Sam and Dean are on a routine hunt when they discover two mysterious strangers in a dark forest. An ancient evil has awoken and is prowling the dark streets of Edinburgh, Scotland, and the Winchesters discover that their bloodline is calling them to that land across the deep.





	1. Flowers of the Forest

The mist was so thick in the forest Dean couldn't see a damned thing.

"Sam," he said. "I can't see a damned thing."

"Yeah," Sam agreed as they pushed through the underbrush. "Sure would help if we had any idea what we were hunting."

"I'm tellin' ya," said Dean, "we oughta just pack up, go back to the motel, pick up some beer and order pizza. We ain't gettin' any younger and this kind of weather plays hell with my back."

Sam huffed a laugh.

"All right, old man," he said. "Let's finish this loop and we'll go back. Might do some more research and find something we could actually use."

"Sure, and come back when the sun is up," said Dean. "It's like pea soup in here."

There was a flash of light through the mist.

Dean raised his gun and started to move more cautiously, signaling to Sam with his other hand to stick close together so they could see each other.

They finally broke through the forest into a wide clearing, where the fog seemed to dissipate somewhat. Dean could see the trees on the other side.

He could also see a _massive_ creature, laying on its side and breathing heavily. He stopped still.

"Sam," he said. "What the fuck is that."

Sam peered over his shoulder and stared at the creature.

"I - I think it's a werewolf?" Sam hazarded.

"Not like any werewolf I've ever seen," said Dean.

The monster had a regular human body and a wolf's head, but was much larger than either of them. It appeared to be asleep.

"Do you think it's hurt?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, man, do I look like a -"

Suddenly there was a loud, groaning sound, and the earth _opened up beneath them_ as a wild wind poured out. They shut their eyes against the gale.

When they opened them again, there were two more people standing in the clearing. 

A woman with long dark hair and a leather jacket who looked eternally hungover.

And a slim, well-dressed man who stood with such perfect posture it made Dean's back hurt again. 

"Drinking again," muttered the woman in a Glaswegian accent. "That's the third time this week."

"Indeed," agreed the man, who leaned over and shook the creature. His accent was also Scottish but much softer and carrying an obvious upper-class eloquence.

"Uh," Dean whispered. "What do we do? Should I shoot them?"

Sam hushed him.

The creature woke with a start and looked at the slim man with bleary eyes.

"Good morning, Seumas," he said brightly. "Had a few too many again, I see?"

The wolf creature looked around himself, puzzled.

"I know how it is," said the woman. "Get rat-arsed, can't get a munchy box, find yourself in fucking America. Impressive, really."

They helped him to his feet.

"I'll have to write you a ticket this time, my friend," said the man. "This isn't what the doorways of the Labyrinth are for, you understand."

Suddenly, the woman looked up and stared directly at Sam and Dean.

"Dorian," she warned. "We've got company."

***

The slim man, Dorian, approached them as the woman propped up the wolf creature, who was now howling an indecipherable song in a low voice.

"My apologies," he said, "but we're - good lord, is that a gun?"

"Americans," muttered the woman.

"What the - who the hell are you?" Dean demanded, lifting his gun again. 

Dorian held his hands up.

"I assure you, we'll leave you be," he said.

"Not listening," said Dean. "Start talking."

Dorian glanced over at the woman.

"Leah," he said. "I believe I could use your assistance."

Leah hauled the wolf creature over to them and glowered.

"What."

This disconcerted Dean, as he was accustomed to his gun worrying people a lot more.

Sam stepped in front of him and the gun.

" _Sam,_ " Dean hissed, but his brother held up a hand.

"I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean," he said. "I'm guessing you know about monsters. We're hunters."

"Hunters," said Leah in a flat voice. "So. What. You go around randomly murdering people? That's a serial killer thing, you know."

"Not people, monsters," said Sam.

"Monsters _are_ people," Leah said, glaring.

"Okay, cut the crap," Dean said, emerging from behind the giant redwood that was his brother. "Who the fuck are you?"

"What's it to you, lumberjack?" Leah demanded.

"All right," said Dorian. "I think that introductions are in order. I'm Detective Inspector Dorian Grey, and this is my partner, DI Leah Bishop. We work at Caledonia Interpol in Glasgow."

His eyes flashed a light blue that suddenly put Dean in mind of Castiel.

"And by your standards, I'm a monster," said Dorian.

Leah and Dorian showed them their badges.

"Wow," said Sam. "Must be nice to have real badges, huh Dean?"

"Shut up," said Dean. "What're you doing here? And are you some kind of monster too?"

"No," said Leah. "I'm the only human that works for Caledonia. A police force of monsters."

The wolf creature slumped in her arms and started to snore.

"And as you can see," she said, "not all monsters deserve to die."

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

"Can you give us a minute?" Sam asked. Leah nodded, and as Dean turned away, along with his gun, Dorian lowered his hands in evident relief.

***

"So what, you're just believing them?" Dean demanded. "They just appeared _out of a hole in the ground,_ Sam!"

"Well, yeah," said Sam. "Partly because of that, really. Anyway what's the problem? It's not like you don't know there's a whole world of hunters out there."

"Yeah but - supernatural _cops_?" he said. "I don't know. Doesn't track with me."

"Or," said Sam wisely, because Sam was wise, "does it put another nail in the coffin of us maybe not always doing the right thing here?"

Dean turned away and paced, running a hand through his hair. Sam just watched him for a while until he spoke again.

"The thing is, Dean," said Sam, "this is a lesson we learn _over and over_ but it's like we never learned it at all. Like - you've been what, a vampire, a demon, I've been soulless, Garth's a werewolf - and what about that vegetarian vampire we met? And those aren't the only people, Dean! What about Benny? Forget Benny, what about _Cas_?"

"Cas isn't a fucking monster!" Dean said.

"Well, yeah he is, Dean," said Sam. "In every way that matters, to people like us. But he's our friend, so - he's different. Maybe these people are different too."

Dean agonized over it for a while. He wondered why he was having such an issue with this whole thing. Maybe Sam was right.

"Pardon me," Dorian called. "But if you'd like to assure us that you won't shoot us, we'd like to be on our way. Seumas is lost and his wife will be worrying."

Dean and Sam approached them warily. Seumas was now happily snoring on Leah's head.

"He's going to start drooling in a minute," she said. "We'd better be off."

"He's got a wife?" asked Dean, unsure. Leah looked at him like he was an idiot.

"What, does that make you feel bad for pulling a gun on us for no reason?" she asked. "Dorian, let's go. I'm too hungover for this shit."

Sam nodded.

"Let them go, Dean," he said. Dean reluctantly stood down.

"I thank you," said Dorian. "All right, Seumas. Let's get you home."

Then he placed his hand on what looked like a random patch of air, and it glowed.

Suddenly, the hole in the ground opened up again, and a strong wind blew out of it. Dean could see that it was actually a corridor, a long hallway leading into the distance.

Leah readjusted the wolf creature on her shoulder, and took one last, long look at Sam before she walked into the hallway. Dorian followed her, and raised a hand in farewell.

The hole snapped shut.

They were alone again in the forest.

"Dude," said Dean. "What the _fuck_ was that?"


	2. Scotland the Brave

Back at the motel, Dean was uncharacteristically quiet. He drank his beer while Sam stared at him.

"Sam," he said. "Stop it."

"What?"

"Staring."

"You let Cas do it."

"That's different."

Dean really did not like Sam's eyebrow at that moment, since it was raised in disbelief.

"All right, out with it," said Dean. "What's wrong?"

Sam leaned back from his laptop and crossed his arms.

"Well, it's just that they might be able to help us out," he said. "It sounds like a great way to get some inside knowledge, you know?"

"Sam, we've been through this before," said Dean. "British Men of Letters ringing any bells?"

Sam shrugged.

"We don't know they're going to be like that," he said. "Besides, that was a whole different kind of thing. I'd love the opportunity to learn more. So many monsters that live here came from the beliefs of other countries, emigrated here when the people did and they brought their faith along with them."

"Nerd," said Dean. "I just don't trust people that use magic. And I don't trust monsters."

He paused.

"Or British people," he added.

"Look, every British person isn't Ketch," said Sam. 

"What's gotten into you?" asked Dean. "You're usually more suspicious than this, Sam. You really ought to know better than to go off trusting people - oh, but that's right, you went off with Ruby."

Sam's bitchface could have won a lemon-sucking contest.

"Really, Dean?!" he snapped.

There was a knock at the door.

The brothers shared a look, and Sam stood up, approaching the door with caution.

"You know, we're really gonna be embarrassed one day when it's just the maid with an icebucket," Dean commented. Sam waved a hand to hush him.

He peered out the curtain. His jaw dropped.

"What?" Dean asked, standing up. "What is it?"

Sam opened the door.

Standing in the frame was the grumpy woman with the long brown hair from earlier that evening, looking as if she'd rather be just about anywhere else but there.

"First," she said, "do you have any whisky?"

Wordlessly, Sam pointed to a bottle on the table. Dean whispered _hey that's mine!_ and they had a little brotherly hand-slapping snit while the woman looked on, unimpressed.

She walked into the room and looked at the bottle.

"You call this blended shit whisky?" she asked, but uncapped it and took a drink.

"Uh," said Sam. "What can we do for you - Leah, was it?"

She nodded.

"Yep," she said. "And I'm here because, apparently, we need your help."

***

Leah swung her legs over the side of the chair. 

Sam sat down on the bed and motioned Dean to do the same.

"You wanna fill us in?" asked Dean, trying to be professional.

Leah nodded. She wouldn't give Dean the bottle, no matter how many times he tried to take it off her. She was _strong._

"Right, so," she sighed. "Dorian's sent me because I'm in good with the Minotaur and otherwise it takes ages to get through the Labyrinth. Anyway, something's going down back home that apparently needs American assistance. I asked the Minotaur but he's technically Cretan, so, y'know. Funny we ran into you, right when all this was starting up, but when it comes to magic and the Fae I've learned not to question it."

Dean tried to follow this story and found himself very lost at the end of the thread.

"Okay," said Sam, clearly just as confused but a little quicker on the uptake. "So the thing you came out of last night - that's the Labyrinth?"

Leah nodded.

"Yeah, it goes anywhere in the world," she said. 

"Is that how the werewolf ended up here?" asked Dean.

"He's not a werewolf, but yes," said Leah. "Scotland's got wulvers, and Seumas is one of them. All they do is give fish to poor people. They haven't really updated in centuries, confuses the hell out of the homeless when they get a bloody great salmon dropped in their lap out of nowhere. They try, though. I'll give them that."

She looked at the bottle of whisky again and shook her head sadly, as if it would have to do.

"And - the Minotaur?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, he's a mechanic now," said Leah. "Has a barn full of cars out somewhere in one of your Midwestern states. But he's not born-and-bred American, and that's where you come in."

"What, exactly, do you need us to do?" asked Sam.

"Come to Scotland," she said. "And help us fix things."

She eyed Dean.

"You're going to have to leave your guns, though," she added as an afterthought.

***

"She's drinking _all my whisky_ ," Dean hissed, as Sam took him aside for discussion. "How's she even _doing_ that, I'd be dead!"

"The only reason you're not dead is because I heal your liver," a sudden voice growled.

"Shit!" Dean shouted, jumping back from Castiel, who had just appeared out of nowhere. "What _is_ it with people randomly appearing, give a guy some warning!"

"Good evening, Leah," Castiel greeted the woman on the chair. She raised the bottle of whisky to him and took another drink.

Sam looked at her, and then at Castiel.

"You know each other?" he asked. 

"Know _of_ each other, certainly," said Castiel.

"Yeah, Nuriel mentioned you a couple times," said Leah. "Not the most useful guy, but we do what we can."

"What brings you here?" Castiel asked.

"I need some Americans," Leah grumbled. "So they tell me. Anyway."

Castiel crossed the room and sat on the chair across from her at the little motel table.

"Does this have something to do with ties to the land?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yeah, something about Scottish blood on foreign land, something something," she said. "I was a folklorist but this, they did not cover at uni."

Castiel contemplated this for a while.

"I don't think most of the stories from Faerie make it into the 'real' world, so to speak," he said. "We'll help you, of course."

"We will?" asked Dean. Castiel glanced at him.

"Yes, Dean, unless you want to break international law," he said. 

"There's a reason it's called _Interpol_ ," Sam whispered to his brother.

"All right," said Dean. "If Cas says you're okay, then we'll help you, wouldn't want to break international law now."

"More like a Geneva convention for Faerie," Castiel said, as if this made any more sense at all.

Dean threw up his hands.

"Can I at least have my whisky back?"

"No," said Leah and Castiel at the same time.

The angel turned back to Leah.

"When will our presence be required?" he asked.

"Soon as, far as I know," she said. "Dorian's got a little more intel than I do on this one, being Fae himself and all."

"Very well," he said. "Where are we needed?"

"Edinburgh," she said, making a face. "Not my ideal spot, but what can you do."

Castiel nodded.

"I'll fly," he said. He turned to Sam and Dean. 

"There's another option, of course," Leah said. Sam looked at her, a question in his eyes.

She smiled a lazy smile.

"You could come with me, via the Labyrinth," she said. "I'll even give you the grand tour."

And Sam smiled back, like a little kid who's been told he's finally old enough to ride the biggest rollercoaster at the park.


	3. The Water is Wide

"Right this way - Sam, is it?" asked Leah.

"Yeah," he replied. Dean watched him almost vibrate with excitement.

They stood in the forest clearing. She pointed at the ground, where a little tuft of grass stood out from a circle of mushrooms.

"Doorways to Faerie," she said, by way of explanation, and then placed the palm of her hand on what looked like thin air.

This time, they saw the world shift, and the portal open to the long, dark hallway with doors on either side.

"After you," said Leah. Sam grinned and stepped inside.

"Dean, I could take you -" Castiel began, but Dean held up a hand.

"No, no way am I letting Sammy go in there alone," said Dean. 

Dorian glanced at him with something like contempt, but it was there and gone so quickly he couldn't be sure.

"Very well," said Castiel. "I'll go with you."

Dorian and Leah followed Sam inside, and Dean brought up the rear with Castiel.

***

"So this Labyrinth goes all over the world?" Sam asked as they walked. Leah nodded.

"Blew my mind too when I first saw it," she said. "Stick together, it's easy to get lost in here."

They walked for a long time until they found themselves outside yet another door that didn't really look much different than the others. Dorian turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Sam and Dean stared in awe at the incredible laboratory that met their eyes, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into the distance. The place was filled with mysterious liquids, bubbling things, and what looked like an entire menagerie along one wall.

"Holy crap," said Dean. Then he noticed there was a slender, nerdy-looking man sitting next to a table and dissecting something. The man was a greenish-orange colour, and he had a tail. He was sitting in a wheelchair.

"Dorian, if that's you, will you please come over and hold this down for me?" he asked, not looking up. "It keeps _squirming_ , damn it."

Then he looked up and caught sight of Sam, Dean, and Castiel.

"Oh," he said, and smiled like a shark. "We have company. I see."

"These are the Americans Chief Ben told us to go fetch," said Leah. "Sam and Dean Winchester, and the angel Castiel, who you already know of course."

Milo and Castiel nodded to each other, and Dean's head was spinning.

"You know this guy too?" Dean demanded. "What the hell else are you keeping from us, Cas?"

Cas raised his hands in a placatory gesture and seemed likely to make his apologies or excuse himself, but Milo cut him off.

"Why couldn't we just ask the Minotaur?" he asked.

"Minotaur's Greek, not Scottish," she said. "Well. Cretan. Anyway, Ben says the situation calls for Americans."

"What, like, any old Americans?" Dean asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

"No, Americans with a very specific Scottish ancestry," said a woman's voice. Dean jumped, and turned to see a woman who looked like she had stepped right out of one of those old posters depicting Swinging London. She smiled, pushing her white cateye sunglasses on top of her head. "Hazel Bloodworth, resident witch."

Dean recoiled, and Hazel raised an eyebrow.

"Hm," she said. "Don't trust witches, I see."

"Dean hates witches," Sam supplied helpfully. Dean shot him a look.

To his surprise, Hazel laughed.

"To each his own," she said. "But maybe we can change your mind."

Dean steeled himself and stuck out his hand to shake. Hazel laughed again.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but I'm afraid that will be impossible."

"Because I hate witches?" asked Dean.

"Because I can't," she said, and demonstrated as her hand passed right through his. He looked up at her, and she smiled charmingly.

"Ghost?" he guessed. She tapped him on the nose - or would have, if she wasn't insubstantial.

"Leah's always dragging home the handsome ones," Hazel sighed.

"Very well, yes," said Milo in a tetchy voice. "Can we focus on the task at hand, please? Dorian, put your finger there."

He indicated an appendage of the creature he was dissecting.

"Are you sure that's allowed?" asked Leah. 

"Yes, I am," said Milo. "Dorian?"

Dorian did as he was asked, and Milo bent to his task again, completely absorbed.

"So!" said Hazel brightly. "I hear you're the descendants of the Campbells."

Sam nodded.

"Yeah, we are," he said. "How'd you know?"

Hazel shrugged.

"I didn't," she said. "Ben did, don't ask me how."

Castiel was slow to raise his hand, but Dean caught him.

"You?" he said. " _You_ sold us out to this freakshow?"

"Dean, I know you're uncomfortable - "

"Uncomfortable? Cas, _we hunt these things,_ " Dean said.

"Not a thing," said Milo. "Over there, Dorian - good."

"They needed help, and that's what we do," said Castiel. "Now, if I may remind you, _I_ am not exactly human either! It's important, and I thought that we'd be able to help them defeat something powerful and evil."

"Americans who are Campbell ancestors, Cas, there's gotta be millions of us," said Sam. "Campbell wasn't exactly a small clan."

"How the hell do you _know_ this stuff?" Dean asked.

"Because I _study_ , Dean! There's more to our job than just kicking down doors and shooting things!"

"Not to me there isn't."

"Hold on," said Leah. "You study? I thought you were the violent type."

"Sam's a Man of Letters," said Dean proudly. "Hey, why didn't you ask the British Men of Letters to help you?"

" _English_ Men of Letters," Dorian corrected.

"What?" asked Dean.

"The English Men of Letters," said Dorian. "Scotland is an entirely different place."

"So you guys don't have a branch up here?" asked Sam.

"If there was one, you'd be looking at her," said Leah. "I'm the resident human folklorist."

Sam smiled at her.

"Wow, really?" he asked. Despite herself, Leah grinned, and then looked away.

"Okay, enough of that," said Dean. "You want to fill us in about why we're here?"

"Ben can do that," said Milo. "There - done. Thank you for your help, Dorian. You can go."

Dorian nodded, and turned to them.

"We should be going," he said. "Ben will be waiting for us, and he can explain."

"All right," said Dean, pointing a finger at Cas, "but you're on thin fucking ice."

Castiel rolled his eyes and looked heavenward for assistance that had long since left the building.

"By the way, Milo," said Leah. "You haven't dissected Fludge while I've been gone, have you?"

"No," said Milo. "I might have tried a few very safe experiments -"

" _Milo_ ," she said testily.

"What? They were _very safe_ ," he said. "Anyway, go ahead - he's all yours."

Leah made a clicking sound with her tongue as if she were calling a dog. 

The ugliest thing Dean had ever seen came bounding across the floor. Its face was entirely made of teeth. It had huge, shining black eyes set in grey batlike skin, and was entirely covered with purple-black fur. Its long tail was hairless and grey apart from a tuft of the same fur at the end, and its two clawed feet reminded him of an eagle's. 

It made an impressive leap and launched itself onto Leah's shoulder, where it clung like a parrot and rubbed against her like a pleased cat.

"This is Fludge," she said, "Basically our K-9 unit."

Dean, Sam, and Castiel all looked at each other, and agreed without speaking that if they couldn't say anything nice, perhaps it was best not to say anything at all.


	4. Caledonia

They continued walking through the Labyrinth, taking twists and turns that Dorian and Leah seemed to know by heart.

"Do all of these doors go to different countries?" asked Sam as they walked.

"Or different parts of Faerie, yeah," said Leah. "Quite a few of them open up in different parts of Scotland."

"Easier than commuting," said Dean.

"Not really," said Leah. "We mostly take the trains, ScotRail usually gets us where we need to go."

"The Labyrinth is extremely volatile," said Dorian. "The only person who can really say they'll never get lost here is the Minotaur."

"What about the fish-man?" asked Dean.

"Dr. McFintan is something of a recluse," said Dorian. "He'll occasionally show up at a crime scene, but only when it's absolutely necessary. He's the forensic anthropologist here at Caledonia."

"Here we are," said Leah, and walked through an archway at the very end of the hall, pushing open the heavy double doors.

The sight that greeted their eyes made even Castiel take a step back.

The doors opened on an enormous, cavernous room. The ceiling was so high up as to be invisible, and little clouds scudded happily across the highest section they could see.

Dorian saw them gaping at this, and smiled.

"Welcome to Caledonia Interpol," he said. "The room makes its own weather."

Directly across from them was an equally enormous arched window. Outside the glass, a blue-tinted fog was visible, and shadowy _things_ were moving beyond it, indecipherable from this distance.

The most incredible aspect of the place was that it was absolutely teeming with monsters.

Creatures walking to and fro, stopping to talk to each other, offering cups of tea. Pixies dropping off paperwork at each desk, and others sitting on sofas in front of a roaring fire were deep in conversation. The dark cherrywood paneling of the room gave it a cozy and ancient atmosphere, like a forgotten castle. 

"Wow," said Sam, with a childlike delight that was infectious enough that Dean felt it too.

"This is _awesome_ ," he said. He noticed the firedogs in the fire place were literal dogs. One was snoozing and the other sitting up eagerly, bold and brassy, completely unfazed by the leaping flames.

Out of nowhere, two laptops with what looked like some kind of steampunk legs came running up to Dorian and Leah. One of them jumped up on her, just as a dog would.

" _Hi,_ " cooed Leah, petting it. Fludge ran from shoulder to shoulder, chirping excitedly. "Go ahead, Fludge, you can play."

Fludge leaped off of her shoulder and the two steampunk-laptops ran off with the little creature.

An old, tired looking man in a black leather jacket and a tie came up to them. In one hand he held a mug of coffee, and in the other, a file.

"Ah, you're here," he said. "Good. I'm utterly swamped with paperwork. These the Winchesters?"

"Yes," said Dorian. "Sam and his brother Dean."

"And their angel, Castiel," said Leah.

"Forgive me if I don't shake your hands," said the man, "but mine are full. Thank you for coming all this way. I'm Chief Inspector Benandonner."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Sam. "This is just _fantastic,_ if only we'd known you were here!"

"Hey, Leah said she was the only human," said Dean. "What're you?"

"Dean, don't be rude," said Sam. Ben looked like he was accustomed to people wasting his time but still wasn't fond of the experience.

"A giant," he said.

Dean looked at Ben, and then at Sam, who towered over him.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ben. "People used to be shorter, don't ask me. Come this way."

They followed him to a desk completely overflowing with paperwork. He sat down behind it and set down his mug, then handed the file to Sam. The chair creaked as he leaned back and picked up the mug, drinking some of the coffee with evident pleasure.

"Now then," he said. "Here's the deal. Edinburgh isn't a favourite place of the officers here, they tend to be very dedicated to Glasgow. Unfortunately it looks like we have something of an epidemic on our hands, and it's emanating from the capital."

Sam opened the file.

"What kind of an epidemic?" he asked.

"Well, since you asked. Edinburgh is being taken over by romanticism."

Dean stared at him.

"Come again?" he asked.

Ben shifted in his chair, and held onto his mug like it was a security blanket.

"You want tea? Coffee? The pixies will bring it," Ben offered.

"Coffee, please," said Dean and Sam, while Cas just shook his head. Ben nodded to the pixies hovering nearby, and they went off to fetch the drinks.

"Anyway," said Ben, "my apologies for the lack of hospitality, we're seeing a real upsurge in problems here. So. The thing is, people all over the world romanticise Scotland. That's not exactly news. But the problem with romance coming alive in Edinburgh is that the things people romanticise about it aren't exactly...savory, to put it lightly."

"Things such as?" asked Dean.

"Well, Deacon Brodie, for a start," he said. "Inspiration for Jekyll & Hyde. Burke and Hare. Things like that, serial killer stuff. Edinburgh is, in a word, supremely creepy, and that just sets people off. Americans are the worst for it, but you find the same thing with Canadians, Australians, and other people who get wrapped up in the fantasy."

"So, what - these romantic notions are coming back to life and killing people?" asked Sam.

Chief Ben nodded.

"It's something of a free-for-all," he explained. "Some of it is quite charming really. Believing in Greyfriars Bobby, for instance, just means there's a nice dog over by the kirkyard now. But when Edinburgh fires up the imagination, well. It can get very dark indeed."

"And nobody has noticed all of this?" asked Dean. "You'd think it'd be pretty weird to see people from previous centuries."

"They've noticed, all right," said Ben. "They just don't attribute the problem to the real cause. Scotland has myriad problems with human crimes. They don't immediately assume a crime spree is based in the land of the Fae."

"Okay," said Dean. "But what the hell do we have to do with this? And more importantly, how do we stop it?"

"I think I can answer that question," said Castiel.

"Oh, now look who's willing to share the information," said Dean.

"Let him talk," Sam said. Castiel nodded his appreciation.

"I wasn't aware of the problem here until now," he said. "I only knew that they needed your help - specifically the help of two American hunters with Campbell blood. Now I think I know why you were needed in particular."

"Yeah? And why's that?" Dean demanded.

"Because the person who set this in motion years ago was one of your ancestors," Castiel intoned.


	5. I Belong to Glasgow

"After you, gentlemen."

Leah ushered them up what looked like a botanic garden's stairwell, complete with fairy lights.

Upon looking closer, Dean realized these fairy lights might, in fact, be faeries.

"Here we are," said Leah, and pushed a solid, heavy oak door open.

They emerged in a small square. It was nighttime, and it was raining, the kind of drizzly rain common to Scotland. Fog shrouded the world, and the neon signs of businesses filled the place with an eerie glow. The orange light of the sodium lamps gave the impression of diffused firelight.

"Welcome to Glasgow," she said. "Enjoy it while you can. We'll be in Edinburgh tomorrow morning."

***

They were left in a hotel, with separate rooms for each of them.

"What?" Leah asked.

"It's just that we usually stay in the same room together," Sam explained. Leah raised an eyebrow.

"Not when you're that tall and you're in Scotland, you don't," she said. "Rooms here are on the small side at the best of times. They aren't exactly made for giants like yourself."

Sam looked down at Leah's admittedly diminutive frame. She seemed to carry a lot of rage and fury in a small package.

Leah grinned up at him, as if she had sussed out what he was thinking.

"Smaller area, more effective results," she told him. Dean sighed dramatically.

"All right, can we stop flirting and get to bed?" he asked. "We've got a big day tomorrow and a lot to think about."

"Sure," said Leah. "Have a good night. Me and Dorian will be here to pick you up in the morning, so be ready."

"We will be," said Sam, and shut the door of the room behind her. Then he turned on Dean in a flash. "What the _hell,_ Dean? Why are you being so rude?"

Castiel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, clearly not wishing to get in the middle of it.

"I'm not being rude, I'm being cautious, Sam!" said Dean. "I don't even know if we can trust these people, and you're making eyes at them!"

"What's the problem?" asked Sam. "Because they're foreign or something?"

"Why do you always think the worst of me?" Dean asked. "No, because the Men of Letters fucked us over good - and here you are wanting to run headlong into this! I just want us to be careful."

"Cas says they're the good guys," Sam argued, and looked at Cas for help.

"Yeah, because Cas has always been great at figuring out who the good guys really are," said Dean.

Cas took one look at him and then left the room without a word.

"You too," said Sam. "Get out."

"What? Sam, we've gotta talk about this -"

"Not when you're like this, we don't," said Sam. "Get out of my room, I'd like some peace and quiet."

And Dean found himself standing alone in the corridor. 

Shaking his head, he found his way to his own room.

***

Dean was surprised to find Castiel standing in the center of his room, staring out the window.

"Dude," said Dean. "What are you doing?"

"I've come to ask for your forgiveness," said Castiel, his gravel voice filled with remorse. "I should have told you, should have mentioned it."

"Yeah, isn't that an apology you owe the both of us?" asked Dean.

"Sam didn't seem to be as upset," Castiel explained.

Dean sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"Look, Cas," he said. "I just don't trust random people, or monsters, showing up in our lives. You're asking me to trust them, how can I? I've spent a lifetime killing things just like them. How can they trust _us_ , when they know what we do?"

"They understand that things are different in America," said Castiel. "They are not like the Men of Letters at all. And yes, I am asking you to go on faith here. It's a big ask, but it's also necessary. They need our help, and I'm asking you to put your prejudices aside just this once so we can all work together."

Dean chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment.

"Fine," he said. "But only 'cause you're the one who's asking. I can't promise anything - _especially_ if things start to go south - but you've got me. For now."

"Good," said Castiel. "Thank you, Dean. Now we need to focus on the matter at hand. If there is anyone who can figure this out, it's the Winchesters."

"All right," he said. "This Dorian guy, what's his deal anyway? He an angel of some kind?"

"He's a selkie," Castiel explained. "Seal-men who are called ashore by those unsatisfied in love."

Dean grinned.

" _Really_ ," he said. "That's...unexpected."

"Some cultures believe they are a kind of angel," said Castiel. "Others believe they are the souls of sailors drowned at sea. In Scotland, they believe that all grey seals are selkies. Dorian was called ashore during the Victorian era, which explains the way he looks."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," said Dean. "I take it he doesn't age, just like you."

"Yes," Castiel replied. "Although if you are hoping for firepower, individual selkies do not have the strength that they do in numbers. Individuals can control the weather, and can use this for offensive and defensive purposes as well as general use - such as clearing the sky - but that is the limit of their abilities."

"Okay," said Dean. "Maybe we're going to have to think this one through, and it's not going to be a guns-blazing situation. I'm not really the ideas man in this group, you know."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," said Castiel. "Still, I understand what you mean. I think this is a discussion that will need to involve Sam. For now, I think we all need to get some sleep."

"Agreed," said Dean. "I'll keep thinking about it, and see what I come up with by the morning."

"I'll go," said Castiel, and he turned toward the door.

"Cas," said Dean, and his voice was small and quiet. If Castiel didn't possess an angel's hearing, he might not have heard it at all.

"Yes?" asked Castiel.

"Could you - would you mind staying?" he asked. "I've never really been overseas before, and I'd rather not spend the night alone."

Castiel smiled.

"As you wish," he said, settling down in a chair at the corner of the room.

"Get some rest," he said. "I'll watch over you."


	6. Scots Wha Hae

The dawn, if it could be called that, seemed to come earlier than Dean remembered. Then again, they had come a long way.

There was a knock at the door. Leah stuck her head in.

"Ready?" she asked. "Train leaves in an hour."

"Sure, just let me grab a few things," Dean yawned.

She looked at Castiel, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, still wearing his trenchcoat.

Then she looked at Dean.

Then she smiled knowingly, as if she suddenly understood something.

"Hey," protested Dean, but since she hadn't said anything, he didn't really have an argument.

"We'll meet you downstairs," she said, and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

***

"Are you all right, Dean?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I dunno, Cas. This - all this - it's just got under my skin for some reason. Most things, I can shake - this ain't one of 'em."

"I think you'd enjoy Scotland," said Castiel. "For one, your alcohol consumption wouldn't even be remarked upon."

"Gee, thanks, Cas," muttered Dean, as he changed from one Henley into another completely indistinguishable from the first. "Why not just come right out and call me an alcoholic while you're at it?"

"You're an alcoholic," said Castiel flatly. Dean made a noise of protest as he pulled the shirt on over his head.

When Castiel didn't reply, Dean turned around to look at him. Castiel was staring wide-eyed in the direction of his chest.

"Cas? Earth to Cas?" Dean said. Castiel seemed to come out of his reverie. "Dude, you can't just call a guy an alcoholic and then zone out. Where'd you go, man?"

Castiel cleared his throat.

"Uh," he said. "Nowhere. My apologies. But you _are_ an alcoholic, Dean, do you know how many times I've had to heal - "

"Yeah yeah yeah," Dean said, waving a hand at Castiel because he really didn't want to hear the rest. "You ready to go?"

Castiel stood.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

If Dean walked past Castiel a little too closely when he went to open the door, well. It could have been an accident.

_But they don't happen accidentally!_ cheered a voice in his head that he hated because it sounded so much like him.

***

Dorian and Leah were waiting in the hotel's small foyer. Leah still looked pissed off and hungover. It looked like she had never met a drink she didn't like. Exhaustion and grumpiness radiated off of her in waves. Dorian looked like something sleek and wild beside her, like a gazelle, or - 

"Impala," said Sam, who was coming out of the sitting room of the hotel. "Classic car. Dean loves it like it's alive. If he ever gets married, that car is going to be the other woman."

"Hey now," said Dean. "No disparaging me when I'm not here. What're we talking about Baby for?"

"Baby?" asked Leah. Dorian turned questioning eyes towards Dean.

"Americans name their vehicles," Castiel informed them. "They form a close personal bond."

"With...a car," Leah drawled. "A machine."

"You only say that because you haven't met her," said Dean proudly.

"I've met Lucille," admitted Leah. "The Minotaur's car, some old thing. But he works on cars. I understand being married to the job, but not the machine."

"So what about Baby?" Dean asked, picking up the thread of the conversation.

"Oh, we were just talking about Scotland and trains," said Sam. "I mentioned that you won't go anywhere if it isn't in the car, including planes, most of the time. But that the Impala would not be practical on these roads."

Dean huffed a laugh.

"That's for sure," he said. "I've seen a few of your tin can toy cars around here. They'd be crushed."

"Dean, modern cars are much better in crashes because of the - " Sam said indignantly.

"Thanks, Sammy, I got it," said Dean. "So if we're done insulting Baby, can we get this show on the road?"

He caught Leah's look.

"Metaphorically speaking," he said.

***

The walk to Queen Street station was uneventful. The day was cloudy and the city was very busy, with Buchanan Street teeming with people. Dean had to admit he was impressed by the architecture, and the view from the top of Buchanan Street down to St. Enoch Square.

"That's the Caledonia Interpol building," said Dorian, pointing at a small red sandstone castle in the distance with a clock tower. "Entrance only via the palm of your hand. If it can't identify you, then you cannot enter."

"That's pretty decent security," Sam complimented. Dorian shrugged.

"Fae technology," he explained. "It has been around for eons."

They took a left and walked past Waxy O'Connor's, a local Irish pub. Leah looked at the place with longing.

"You can get lost in there," she said fondly. "It's like a rabbit warren. The drunker you get, the worse it is. Best place to take newcomers to the city. Too bad we have to go to Edinburgh instead."

The way she said _Edinburgh_ sounded like someone might refer to something distasteful that they had to say in order to communicate an idea, but they weren't happy about it.

"Come now, Leah," reasoned Dorian. "We hired you when you were living in Edinburgh."

Leah tossed her head back and snorted.

"Still Glaswegian, through and through," she informed him. 

Dean noticed Sam noticing the sunlight catching on her long brown hair. He elbowed Cas, who shot him a confused look. Dean replied with a world-weary look that said he was very tired of angels who were so deliberately obtuse.

They found themselves outside the train station. Leah grinned and pointed at the kerb.

"This is where we met, remember?" she asked. "I thought you must be insane. Or that I was."

"Indeed," said Dorian, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. No one else said anything; it was clear that the memory was a private one.

***

They boarded the train, and Sam said he needed the bathroom. He headed off in that direction.

Dean immediately turned to Dorian and Leah.

"So what's the story?" he asked. "The two of you - are you together?"

"Are the two of you?" retorted Leah. "Dorian, did we bring the whisky?"

The Victorian gentleman reached into his interior breast pocket and drew out a flask, handing it to her wordlessly, as he kept his eyes focused on Dean and Castiel. Leah accepted it and took a long drink. She didn't even hiss afterwards. Like she was drinking iced tea or something.

"The answer is no," said Leah. "Your turn."

"Also no," said Dean. "We're a couple of _guys_ , if you hadn't noticed."

Leah's stare hardened. Dorian coughed politely.

"I understand that American men have, shall we say, some odd standards," said Dorian. "I'm a selkie, and I am bisexual after the manner of my people. My lover, Aidan, was my own choice. My love story, Dahlia, was a woman who cried seven tears into the sea."

Dorian glanced out the window as the train began to move.

"Once a selkie is Taken, once he falls in love," he explained, "he can never love again. And selkies are immortal. Love is an irrevocable thing with my people. Even if I had wanted to love Leah I am not capable of it."

Dorian leaned forward, and his wide, dark brown seal-like eyes suddenly flashed that strange blue. But his was like the sea, like drowned sailors, like the reflection of the sky during a storm. The one thing it shared with Castiel's power was the sense of a threat behind it, of impending doom, of the kind of relentless indiscriminate destruction wrought by a force of nature.

"But that is not to say I do not care for her," he said, in a far darker tone. "And I do. Very much."

Dean put his hands up in surrender. Leah pushed Dorian back against the chair.

"All right, all right," she said. "That's enough. Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"Because I've seen the way my brother has been looking at you," said Dean. "And I _care for him very much._ "

He eyed Dorian, who just stared at him like a very angry but stoic British statue.

Then he looked at Leah, whose mouth had quirked up in a smile.

"And I don't mess around when it comes to Sam," said Dean. "So -"

"What about Sam?" asked Sam, just returned from the bathroom. He folded his gigantic frame into the seat across from theirs. 

"Nothing," said Dean. "Just telling them about that one time when you were a kid and you -"

" _Dean,_ " Sam protested, looking at Leah immediately, and not letting him finish.

Dean grinned. He hadn't even known what he was going to say. He thought he'd figure it out by the time he got to the end of the sentence, but didn't have to.

He caught Sam in the act, and Sam saw that he saw, and then blushed.

Dean crossed his arms. This was _exactly_ the kind of situation that called for brotherly intervention.

Maybe this trip was going to be great after all.


	7. Fleshmarket Close

"Wow," said Dean.

There wasn't much more that could be said about Edinburgh.

Well, there probably was, but it certainly wasn't in Dean's vocabulary.

The city was a massive monument of black and grey stone. The castle stood brooding over the city, casting dark shadows in the late morning light. It was daunting, and stern. It was also one of the most incredibly beautiful things Dean had ever seen.

"Yeah, yeah," grumped Leah. "Shut your trap already."

Dean closed his mouth, as he realized he had been gaping. He looked over at Sam and was quietly thrilled that his brother had the same stunned look on his face. 

"C'mon, Sam," said Dean, and they followed Leah and Dorian up the hill.

***

Their small group stood at the foot of a staircase that led up and up. Edinburgh locals hurried past them in disgust, just another group of tourists that lost their way.

" _Fleshmarket Close_ ," Sam read aloud from a sign hanging down from the stone arch above the foot of the staircase.

"Well, if I hadn't known we were walking into something creepy, this would seal the deal," said Dean.

"It's not quite what you think," said Dorian. "This was the close - or alleyway - where meat was sold, once upon a time. I remember it well."

"You _remember_ it?" asked Dean. "You can't be more than, what, thirty?"

Dorian nodded once, sharply.

"I am immortal, like all my people," he explained. "Well. Immortal, to a point."

"So what's this got to do with the hunt, and the Campbell name?" asked Sam.

"Everything," said Leah. "First of all, this is where the first reports originated. This is ground zero, from what we can tell. Ghosts, monsters, historical figures, you name it."

She took a drink from Dorian's flask.

"And it's the Campbell _curse_ , by the way," she said. "Just thought I'd fill you in on that aspect of the situation."

"Whoa, wait a second," said Dean. "Curse? What curse?"

"I thought we agreed that we were going to break it to them gently!" protested Castiel.

The Winchesters turned to their angel.

"Cas?" Dean said. "Care to explain?"

***

They began the long, slow climb up the close. Shadowy alleyways branched off from the main staircase, damp and cool in the gloom. A sense of foreboding began to build inside of Dean. He didn't like it when this happened. It had happened too many times to count, and he was still alive because he trusted to his own senses and gut instinct.

"The Campbell clan," Dorian was saying as they climbed, "or _caim beul,_ crooked mouth, have been infamous throughout Scotland for centuries. They are a clan that can claim in all honesty to have been on the winning side of every battle in Scottish history."

"And there's only one way that would be true," added Leah.

"They were traitors," said Sam.

"More like opportunists," said Dorian. "But in some cases, yes, that would be true. The most famous act of traitorousness on the part of the Campbell clan involved the Massacre at Glencoe. It was an event arguably brought about by the orders of the king, and not really based on the age-old Campbell/MacDonald feud, but -"

"The Campbells knew they were meant to kill the Glencoe MacDonalds," Leah continued. "Instead of doing so, they told the MacDonalds that they were overflow from Fort William. Soldiers with nowhere to sleep. They asked the hospitality of the MacDonalds, which was granted. Highland hospitality meant a lot in those days."

"After a week," Dorian took up the story again, "during a snowstorm, the Campbells rose up and slaughtered everyone in the village. They stripped the chieftain's wife of her clothing and jewelry, throwing her outside into the snow to die. Some MacDonalds escaped over the mountains to find safety among the Stuarts of Appin, their allies."

"But Glencoe has been empty, ever since," said Leah. "The Campbell name was cursed in Scotland, and still is to this day, in some places."

"Most have now forgotten what happened," said Dorian, "or they don't believe it has anything to do with modern-day Scotland, or people who carry the Campbell name."

They finally reached the top of the staircase, emerging onto a road that curved into an immediate left turn.

"But you don't think that's the case anymore?" asked Sam.

Dorian shook his head.

"There will always be someone on the warpath when it comes to the Campbells," said Dorian. "We've no idea who, or why, but it seems that the ancient curse has been revived."

"And the reason you needed Americans?" prompted Dean.

Leah turned to him.

"Because you romanticize the shit out of everything," she said. "And for someone to hate the Campbells this much - for someone to revive so many of the old Scottish legends in Edinburgh - that person is almost certainly an American."

"And do you have any idea how we can neutralize it?" asked Sam.

Leah shook her head.

"No," she admitted. "That's where you come in. We find this American, you either talk them off the ledge, or -"

"Or, we take them out," said Dean. 

"The only problem is that the curse might truly be a _curse_ because of this rigid belief system," said Dorian. "So we might need to unravel a few more threads than usual."

They turned the corner, and Dean was once again rendered absolutely speechless. 

A busy thoroughfare filled with people led up to the dark castle he had seen overshadowing the city. The street was cobblestone, and everywhere around him, he could sense ...

_Something._

What was that? A feeling he had never known before.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, warm through the fabric.

He turned to look at Castiel.

Had his eyes always been so blue? Like sunlight through ice?

A scream shattered the peace of the afternoon.

The feeling faded. Castiel dropped his hand.

Leah and Dorian had already taken off at a run, and they hurried to catch up.

***

In the shadow of a building, a body lay on the cobblestones, blood seeping out from beneath it.

"What the hell?" asked Dean, as he came up alongside Leah.

She turned to look at him. Her eyes were bright.

"Another murder," she said. "People here have been calling the killer - "

"Mr. Hyde," Dorian finished, as they stared down at the man's still figure in the silver-grey light of Edinburgh.


	8. Scottish Romance

"Wait, wait, wait," said Dean. "Mr. Hyde? As in, Doctor Jekyll and?"

Leah nodded.

"Didn't that book take place in London?" he asked.

"Yes, but - " Leah turned to Dorian. "I remember this from uni. Some scholars believed that it was Edinburgh, not London, where the story took place. Edinburgh New and Old Towns, the double face of the city as it modernised -"

"I've read about this too," said Sam, and Leah began to pace as he talked. "Robert Louis Stevenson lived in Edinburgh, didn't he?"

"Yes," Leah confirmed. "And he befriended Arthur Conan Doyle, who also attended Edinburgh University."

"Sherlock Holmes was based on their professor," said Sam. 

"That's right," said Leah.

"Wow," said Dean, observing all this nerdery from a safe distance. "Look at the two of them go."

"Indeed," said Dorian.

"They're both researchers," said Castiel. "It's a necessary part of the job. Not everyone can go in guns blazing."

"Nobody can go in guns blazing here," said Dorian dryly. "They're not allowed."

"Yes, how exactly do you go about killing monsters and ghosts around here?" Dean asked.

Dorian blanched.

"Kill them?" he asked. "You're talking about my friends, Mr. Winchester. And myself, I may add."

Dean sighed.

"Cultural differences," he said. "Anyway, Cas, you go in 'guns blazing' all the time."

"I'm a strategist," Castiel sniffed. "I know what I'm doing. I plan ahead."

"Yeah buddy," said Dean. "Sure you do."

"Okay, I think it's time to take this somewhere else," said Leah, walking up to them. "Human police are on their way."

"What, you guys don't take the bodies in yourselves?"

Leah fixed him with a stare.

"Not when they're human, we don't," she said.

***

Later, they were holed up in the hotel, looking through the Internet for clues.

"Don't you have like, some kind of mystical information resource?" asked Dean, bored out of his mind. "What's the point in monster police if they don't have intel that nobody else can get their hands on?"

"We do," said Leah. "But this - this is brand new. We've never seen anything like it before."

"What I don't get," said Sam, paging through a paperback book and referring to something on his laptop, "is what the so-called 'Campbell curse' has to do with Jekyll and Hyde."

Dean shrugged.

"Maybe nothing," he said. "Maybe someone wants their dreams to come true, but not in a good way."

Castiel raised his head and stared at Dean.

"You might be on to something there," he said. "Perhaps it's someone who desires vengeance, very badly."

"I thought you said this was an American in Scotland," said Dean. "What would they want vengeance for - especially this kind?"

"Well, they may not realise they're doing it," said Leah. "We've run into things like that before."

"So have we," said Sam. "Uh. Leah, do you want to go to the National Museum and, uh. Research?"

Leah grinned.

"Sure," she said, and hopped down from the table where she had been sitting.

"Hey, what about us?" asked Dean.

"Ask the strategist," said Leah, and she followed Sam out the door.

Dorian stood there like a stern British statue. His large, dark eyes slid to the side and he regarded Dean calmly.

Dean was suddenly reminded of seals submerged and watching humans with a strange curiosity. He shivered despite himself.

"I wouldn't worry yourself too much, Mr. Winchester," said Dorian. "After all, your brother has had years of experience dealing with a grumpy drunk wearing a leather jacket."

He bowed, and then took his leave, as Dean spluttered and shook his finger at the closing door.

"Hey!" he finally said when he found his voice. "You're a - a - that's - "

"He's gone, Dean," said Castiel gently.

Dean crossed his arms and sat down on the bed in a huff.

***

"I don't like this, Cas," said Dean. "We should be out there. Hunting. _Doing_ something."

Castiel looked up from where he had been sitting at the hotel room's table, leafing through the same paperback Sam had been reading earlier.

"Patience is a virtue, Dean," he said. "We don't need to be active all the time. In fact, perhaps we should go out - to experience Edinburgh at night. I've heard the whisky here is sublime."

"C'mon, Cas, I ain't on vacation," said Dean. "I'm crawling out of my skin here. I want to _do something._ "

Castiel stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the table. His blue eyes flashed, and Dean took a step back.

"Dean Winchester," growled Castiel. "I am _trying to read._ "

Once Dean's mouth had relaxed from the O shape it had made when Castiel brought out the Old Testament-style threats, he really _looked_ at the book for the first time.

"What are you reading, anyway?" he asked.

"I - I don't know," said Castiel. He handed the paperback to Dean.

_Best of Burns,_ said the title. Dean flipped it over to read the back jacket. _Rob Roy McGregor was one of Scotland's most famed outlaws..._

Confused, he turned the book over again. 

Now it said _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde._

"What the hell?" said Dean. "Cas, what're you filling your head with here?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "It seems to exert some kind of a pull."

"Where'd this book come from, anyway?" asked Dean.

"Now that you mention it, I really can't remember," said Castiel.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed a handful of Dean's shirt.

"Wha-" began Dean, when Castiel crushed him against his lips in a passionate kiss.

Dean dropped the book on the floor.

He could swear he heard some kind of weird Celtic-y flute music.

Then Castiel shoved Dean away as hard as he could. 

Dizzy and confused, feeling rejected from something he hadn't even initiated, Dean just stood there.

"Cas!" Dean demanded. "What are you doing?"

The angel stared at him, panting, from the other side of the room.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. "Something just came over me and - and - "

"And what?" Dean asked. "You wanted to go all Dirty Dancing with me?"

"I," Castiel said, and then seemed to grit his teeth. "I made a deal with the Empty."

Dean stared at him.

"You what?" he asked.

"The deal was that if I were ever _truly_ happy," said Castiel, "then I would go right back there. So I can't accept your kisses and I don't want to know whether or not you love me back. It's too dangerous. Stay away."

Dean just stared at the angel. He couldn't process this, not while entirely sober. 

_He loves me_ , he thought, heart thudding in his chest, and then _he's in danger._

And if ever there were a romance novel trope of lovers kept apart, this was one hell of an example.


	9. Edinburgh Night

"You did _what?_ " Dean demanded. "Look me in the eyes, Cas!"

Castiel finally turned to face him, blue eyes cold and distant.

"Look man, you can't just lay one on me and then -"

The door slammed open.

Sam and Leah fell into the room, giggling. 

Then Sam looked up and his eyes got very large. He blinked up at Dean owlishly.

"LEAH SHHHH!" he said at the absolute top of his voice. "DEAN IS STILL UP AND I THINK HE MIGHT KNOW WE'RE DRUNK."

Leah looked at Sam and then Dean. 

"I think you're right," she whispered back, very clearly nowhere near as far gone as Sam.

"LEAH I THINK HE SAW US!" Sam said anxiously. Leah burst out laughing.

"I'm pretty sure he did," she said. 

"OH MAN," bellowed Sam. "HE'S GONNA BE, LIKE, SUUUUUPER MAD. HE GETS LIKE THAT, YOU KNOW."

Dean watched all of this play out in front of him, amused. He folded his arms.

"OH _NO_ ," said Sam, sighing like wind leaving sails and leaning heavily on Leah. "HE'S CROSSING HIS _ARMS_ AT ME AGAIN. I HATE WHEN HE DOES THAT."

"God, how are you still this whiny when you're drunk?" asked Dean. 

Sam sat up in horror.

"I TOLD YOU LEAH," Sam scolded her. "WHO TOLD HIM WE WERE DRUNKING? DRINKING? DRUNK?"

"Lower the volume," said Dean. "Dude, everyone in the city knows you're drunk. What the hell did you give him, anyway?"

"Single malt whisky," said Leah. "The good stuff."

Sam hummed and buried his face in her hair. She patted him on the back awkwardly.

"And you didn't think, _hey, maybe it's time to cut him off?_ at some point?" asked Dean.

Leah raised an eyebrow.

"This is Scotland," she said. "We don't cut people off unless they're passed out, and maybe not even then. Anyway, I figured someone his size could handle more. I'm roughly half his height and I'm fine."

"Yeah, kid's got zero tolerance," said Dean. "I'll put him to bed."

"Don't bother," said Leah. "I'll do it myself."

And before Dean could argue, she had somehow hefted Sam's bulk and supported him as she led him down the hall to his room. Dean could vaguely hear him singing some song about a brown-haired maiden or something.

"Man, is he ever going to be embarrassed tomorrow," said Dean, grinning. Then he remembered the conversation from before Sam and Leah's return.

He rounded on Castiel.

"We gotta hash this out," he said. "Enough lying and hiding. This shit always, _always_ gets us killed. If you go to the Empty, you ain't comin' back! You understand that, right?"

"I understand that," said Castiel. "And yet it was no more or less than you would have done."

"You can get people _out of Hell_ ," said Dean. "You can't get them out of the Empty."

"I got out once," Cas pointed out.

"Once, and that was sheer luck!" Dean cried. "Do you know I killed myself because I couldn't stand to live without you there? Do you?"

Castiel's jaw dropped.

"What do you mean, you _killed_ yourself?!" it was Cas's turn to be furious. "I don't make these sacrifices just so you can go throw your lives away on some, on some -"

Dean grabbed Castiel's arm. The angel looked down at his hand.

"I didn't throw my life away on some stupid noble thing," said Dean softly. "I just couldn't see a life without you in it. Everything was cold, and bleak, and - and Sam was there. I would have left Sammy. So don't you go telling me about broken hearts, or what I would have done in your place. I learned, okay? I learned, after everything, that doing all that shit is so, so stupid. People miss you, people don't want to live without you, they - they -"

Dean wanted to say the word. He really did. 

And then the door opened again. It was Leah, looking no worse for wear, with a slight smile on her face.

"I put him to bed," she said. "He was saying something about how he always loved brown hair on women. I think he thinks he was flirting."

"Oh?" said Dean. "And where were you two? I thought you'd gone out to research."

Leah shrugged.

"We did, and didn't find much," she said. "Then we found a pub. How was I supposed to know he couldn't handle his liquor?"

"Well, we found something," said Castiel, clearly happy for the opportunity to change the subject. "This book, the one that Sam was reading. There's something wrong with it."

He handed it to her and she took it, looking it over. 

"What's wrong with it?" she asked.

"What's the title?" Dean said.

She turned the book over in her hands.

" _Scots Wha Hae -_ no, wait, it's _Waverley_ \- now it's _To A Mouse,_ " she said, frowning. "What the hell?"

"Exactly," said Dean.

"I think I should call Dorian," said Leah. "This might be important."

"Go ahead," said Dean. "Cas and I have something to - "

But when he turned around, Castiel was gone.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. Leah raised an eyebrow.

"Lover's tiff?" she enquired sweetly.

"Oh, shut up," said Dean, and decided then and there to go for a walk and clear his head.

***

Outside, Edinburgh at night was dark and magical. If it had seemed gloomy even in the silver-grey light of day, by night it was positively supernatural. 

Dean found himself lost in a dark rabbit warren of streets, his footsteps echoing on the cobbles beneath his feet. The stars looked strange to him, distant and faded beyond the stone walls of the city. Why would Castiel do something like this? How could he do this to them? How could he do this to _him?_ Dean had just assumed Cas would always be there, watching over him, taking care of him _maybe even loving him_ but he shut that thought down before it had a chance to take root again in his heart.

He thought of how many, _many_ times he had stopped that very same thought, throughout the years. It wasn't the right time, it wasn't right, Castiel was angel, he would never, he _could_ never, they just don't have the equipment to care - 

\- and then, this last, this sudden brief kiss from Castiel, and there was something as large and terrifying as a snowball that had built and built for years suddenly tearing towards him at great speed, this thing was bigger than universes, outside of time, and the yawning chasm seemed to open beneath his feet - 

_maybe he loves me too_

a voice, a young voice inside his head, a voice he hadn't heard in his own mind since he was a young teenager and scared, so scared, of things more frightening than monsters, like girls and boys and whether or not he would lose a heart more tender than was obvious to outside appearances.

Dean was tough on the outside because it was the only way to protect the one soft thing about him.

Something distracted him from his thoughts, a strange meaty sound. He glanced up, and looked down one of the side-alleys, nearly engulfed in darkness. 

A figure, barely lit by the pool of a streetlight, and the rhythmic scything of an arm.

Dean recognized the glint of silver on the knife before he'd processed what he was looking at, and had started to run.

"Hey! Stop!" he shouted, and the person looked up.

The face that was lit by the streetlamp was so hideously ugly that Dean stopped in his tracks, horror freezing him to the bone.

Then the figure took to its feet and began to run as fast as it could into the waiting darkness.

"HEY!" Dean shouted again, and the spell was broken. He ran toward the figure, but it had vanished into the night.

He turned around and saw the body lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Rushing to their assistance, he hit his knees beside the body and started looking for a pulse.

"What the hell?" Dean murmured. The person was fully kitted out in Scottish Highland garb, more realistic than any of the reenactors he'd seen earlier walking on the Royal Mile. This person looked like the real thing.

" _Help!_ " Dean called out. " **Help!** "

When no one answered, and no one seemed likely to come, Dean shouted with his voice and soul:

**_"CASTIEL!"_ **


	10. Tartan

"Move away from the body."

A voice seemed to float down in the darkness of the alleyway, and Dean looked up to see a flash of blue in the dark.

"Cas?" he asked hoarsely, but was only deceived for a moment. 

This was the blue of the sea, and of storms. Dorian Grey seemed to materialize out of the darkness, and Dean stood away from the body as requested.

Dorian put his hand on the man in the outfit and sighed.

" _Damn_ these time travelers," he murmured to himself, standing up. "This case is now entirely in our territory. I'm going to contact Milo at the lab. Someone will need to come and pick up the body."

"Wha - time travel?" asked Dean. Dorian looked at him with the air of a man who has never worked at a tourist information booth but can imagine it all too well.

"Yes, they keep finding portals or other methods," he said, shaking his head. "Unfortunately _someone_ put it into their heads that it would be a good method to find a lover."

The selkie looked up at the sky, clouded over and grey.

"Tearlach of Glengoyne, if I ever meet with you again," said Dorian, apparently to no one. 

"Okay, wait, right," said Dean. "So this is - one of yours now? We have jurisdiction, or whatever you want to call it?"

"We have jurisdiction now, if you would like to put it that way," he said. "Be careful, these bodies can be hazardous."

"Hazardous how?" Dean asked.

"You can never tell," said Dorian. "They tend to be...volatile. Please stay here while I fetch Leah, she has a telephone."

"You don't carry one?"

"Do I _look_ like I carry one?" asked Dorian, in a _why do Americans need to question everything we do_ voice. 

Dean held up his hands in surrender, and watched as Dorian walked away, clacking his cane against the ground as he went.

"Stick up his ass could match Cas's," said Dean. He turned, and out of the corner of his eye, saw a shadowy figure take to its heels.

"Hey!" shouted Dean. "Hey! Stop!"

He looked down at the body, and then at the figure slowly fading in the distance.

"Screw it," said Dean, and gave chase.

***

Several turns of confusing alleys and staircases and side-streets later, Dean returned to where he had started, out of breath and thrilled that he'd finally found the starting point again after getting lost in the darkness of the city.

Unfortunately, he was greeted by a grim little crowd.

"I _expressly_ told you to stay by the body!" said Dorian, his voice slightly raised, which clearly meant that he had lost his temper. "What were you thinking, running off?"

"I saw someone run that way!" Dean protested. "I didn't want them to get away!"

"And had it not occurred to you that someone might have been luring you away?" Dorian demanded.

Leah, Sam, and Cas were all looking at him expectantly. He looked down at the ground and scuffed a shoe against the cobblestones.

"No, I guess not," he said, hating that he felt like a scolded child. "Wait, where's the body?"

"I think that's why you've raised Dorian's ire," said Leah. "It was gone by the time we arrived."

"Gone?" Dean said. "Gone where?"

"That's just what we'd like to know," said Dorian.

"But we can guess," said Sam. He exchanged glances with Leah.

"Burke and Hare," she said.

"Come again?" asked Dean.

Castiel sighed, and crossed his arms.

"Bodysnatchers," he explained.

***

"Edinburgh was the center of medical advancement a long time ago," Leah explained back at the hotel. "Burke and Hare capitalized on this success by selling bodies to medicine."

"Yeah," said Sam. "And when people weren't dying fast enough -"

"They made more bodies," Dean finished. Sam and Leah nodded.

"Okay, but what could Burke and Hare do with bodies right now?" asked Dean. "It's not like you can still sell them for science."

"I'm not sure," said Leah. "But there is one thing I do know. Whoever is doing this - the actual criminal, so to speak - isn't Mr. Hyde, or Burke and Hare, or this paperback book you found. These are just tendrils of a greater being."

"So if we stop the original, all these other things disappear?" asked Dean. 

"Kind of like a tulpa," Sam explained. "But it looks like these things are all extensions of one person's ideas about Edinburgh history."

"Which, of course, includes every Highland fantasy you can imagine," said Dorian. "And that brings us to the most important part of this conversation."

"Bait," supplied Leah helpfully.

"And just what kind of bait does someone like this respond to?" asked Dean.

"Like Dorian said," Leah replied. "Highland fantasy."

"Which means one of you have to play the part."

There was a round of silence in the hotel room. Rain pattered against the window as cars passed by beneath them.

"Couldn't Dorian do it?" Dean asked.

"No way," said Leah. "Dorian's a little too stiff-upper-lipped Brit to play the fantasy Scotsman. It'll have to be someone a little more strapping. No offense, Dorian."

"None taken," said Dorian, with a slight incline of his head.

"Then who?" demanded Dean. "I ain't wearing a skirt."

Dorian almost visibly bristled.

" _It is a kilt,_ " he snarled, proving that despite all his fancy clothes and high-end accent, he was a Scotsman through and through.

"All right, all right," said Dean. "Still. Not me."

"We don't think that it'd be a good idea for either of you to act as bait," said Leah. "Given how the Campbell curse seems to be tied up in all this. We think you'll need to be the ones to do the fighting."

"Well then all that leaves is -"

"Castiel will do it," said Dorian. "We've discussed it already."

"Hey, no using Cas as bait!" Dean said. "Nobody even talked to us about it!"

Castiel stepped forward. 

"It's all right, Dean," he said. "It was my suggestion."

"Cas, this is crazy," said Dean. "You wanna throw yourself into this before we even know what we're up against?"

"Yes," said Cas. The _for you, I'd do anything_ , was in his eyes but unspoken. Or perhaps it was a result of Dean's wishful thinking.

"We're on the Royal Mile, and time is wasting," said Dorian. "First thing tomorrow morning, we will meet you at one of the local shops to get fitted."

"Agreed," said Castiel, and before Dean could say anything else, they had trooped out of his room and left him alone with his thoughts for the rest of the night.

***

The morning light was diffuse and glowing through the grey clouds. 

Dean was awake, and making himself coffee with the kettle in the room for just that purpose. 

He was not admitting to himself that he was disappointed Castiel had never reappeared in his room overnight, but that was probably in order to avoid the inevitable argument.

He sipped at his coffee and looked out the window at the black and grey stone of Edinburgh in the rain. He had to admit to himself that it was a beautiful city, with a grandeur and imposing strength that he had never really seen anywhere in America before.

Finally, it was time to meet with everyone. He walked outside into the freshness of early-morning Edinburgh rain.

_I could get used to this,_ he thought, the world fresh all around him. _I really could._

He zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked slower than necessary toward the shop, taking in the sights around him.

***

"Hey," Dean greeted Sam as he walked in out of the rain. "You get soaked on the way here, too?"

"Yeah," said Sam, "I should've brought an umbrella, I don't know what I was thinking."

"They're useless here," Leah interjected as she walked over to them. "The wind'll just turn 'em inside out. Best to just get used to getting drenched now and then. You're human, you'll live."

"Ready?" called Dorian's voice from the back. 

"Yeah, c'mon out," Leah called back.

"Dean, you have to _promise_ not to laugh," said Castiel's gutteral growl, sounding strangely small and concerned.

When Dean didn't respond right away, Sam elbowed him hard in the side.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing his side and rolling his eyes. "I promise, Cas. Now please come out of there."

And Castiel did.

And Dean's tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth somehow, and he just managed to catch the cup of coffee that he nearly dropped on the floor.

Castiel was dressed in a dark purple tartan. He wore a great kilt, one of the larger variety with the excess of fabric draped artfully over his shoulder and held in place by a kilt pin. His white poet's shirt bloomed out at the arms, and the tie-up front showed more of his chest than Dean had ever seen. His strong legs were wrapped in brogues and stockings with flashes that complemented the colors of the tartan. His blue eyes seemed unearthly against the colors of the plaid, and his tanned skin seemed to glow.

"I think he looks great!" said Leah. "Dorian outdid himself."

Dorian made a slight bow.

"I did live through this time period," he said.

Castiel gave Sam and Dean an anxious look.

"You look awesome, Cas," Sam said.

"Dean?" Cas prompted.

Dean still had not rediscovered his capacity to speak. 

He finally unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, fearing he might choke on it.

"Good," he croaked. "Good. You look - uh. Yeah. Buddy."

He tacked on the last part for good measure.

Castiel smiled. It seemed to be enough.

"Okay," said Sam. "So what do we do next?"

"We bring Castiel to ground zero," said Leah. "And then we wait."

And when Castiel walked past him, if Dean's eyes followed the swing of the kilt, well. It was a unique experience for American eyes, after all.


	11. Night

The door to their hotel room fell closed behind Dean and Castiel.

"Do we know what the next step is going to - " Castiel began, and then found himself with an armful of Dean Winchester.

"God, you look so good," he moaned, kissing the angel hard. Castiel, overwhelmed and brilliantly happy, went right along with it, confused though he was about Dean's sudden change in attitude.

Dean's arms tightened around Castiel, and then he was frantic, as if he had waited for years and years, and now that the dam had broken he couldn't get his hands and mouth on everything quickly enough.

And if he was going to be honest with himself, that was the truth.

Dean slid his hands underneath Castiel's kilt, panting against his mouth.

His bright green eyes widened when his hands encountered - 

Nothing.

He pulled back to stare at Castiel, who was staring at him with something akin to awe.

"Dorian said it was traditional," he explained. Dean brushed his hand over Castiel's hard cock and the angel shuddered, crying out.

"Do you feel that, angel?" Dean whispered, half-crazed with lust and need. "I can make you feel that way, always - "

"Please, Dean," said Castiel. The trust in his eyes, and - and - 

_something else Dean would not bring himself to name_

made Dean push him down onto the bed, the kilt spread around him, and with a few hard thrusts Dean was finished, hiding his shout in the cloth of Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel, for his part, had clutched at Dean's hair a moment later, and followed him with a strangled cry.

Afterwards, they stared at each other, breathing hard, coming down.

There was a knock at the door.

"You decent?" came Leah's voice.

Dean stood up immediately and ran to the bathroom, cleaning up as quickly as possible. He threw a towel to Cas and indicated that he do the same. When he was done, Dean took the towel, not looking at the angel, and threw it into the bathroom on a pile with the others.

"You guys dead in there or something?" Leah's voice came again with a harder note to it.

"Sorry," said Dean, finally opening the door. "Didn't hear you the first time."

Leah took one look at him, and then Castiel sitting on the edge of the bed in his kilt looking like he'd been hit by a truck and enjoyed the experience.

She tried to hide it, she really did, but in the end she snorted into her coffee.

"Are they here, Miss Bishop?" asked Dorian, sidling into the room. He too looked at the two of them and met Leah's eyes in the way detectives who have worked together for years and understand each other with a glance always do.

Dorian's face quirked up in a half-smile, which for him, was a lot.

"Pardon the interruption," he said. "But we really must be going."

***

Outside, Dean caught up with Dorian.

"I, uh," he started, as they walked. "I think that the magic is doing something weird to me. Making me, uh, want things I maybe don't."

Dorian sighed the sigh of a man having to deal with another man who is far too American for his own good.

"Dean, the spell only amplifies what's already there," said Dorian. "Burke and Hare existed. Jekyll and Hyde was written by an Edinburgh man. Nothing here is made from whole cloth, but an exaggeration of reality."

"Oh," said Dean, as realization sank in. " _Oh._ "

They walked for a while longer.

"In that case, uh," he hazarded, "since you, uh, also swing both ways, how do I - ? What do I - ?"

Dorian stopped and turned to him.

"You Americans complicate everything needlessly," he said. "Love is love, my friend. Woman, man, genderless eldritch being, all are one and the same. Love him as you wish to be loved, and as you would love a woman."

He sighed, and shook his head.

"It's really not that hard," he said. "And it's not the monumental thing you believe it to be, unless the love itself is monumental. It's pedestrian and everyday. That's all there is to it."

And the selkie walked away, leaving Dean staring after him.

Because, he realized, although his being in love - _in love!_ \- with the angel Castiel was indeed a monumental, brain-bending revelation, the fact that Castiel was technically male...wasn't.

And it was as easy as that. This revelation on its own startled him so much that he nearly fell over with the shock of it.

***

Leah and Sam were waiting for them in the same alley as the city darkened toward nightfall. Dean was privately having his own little freakout, but it would have to wait until later. He kept trying to catch Castiel's eye but the angel never once looked his way.

"Okay, Cas, you're just going to stand here," said Sam, indicating the place where the little cobblestone alleyway met the staircase of Fleshmarket Close. "And then we're going to see what happens."

"Wait, see what happens?" Dean demanded. "You don't even know what's coming?"

Leah snorted again. Dean ignored her.

"Dean, it's the best we've got," said Sam. "Besides, Cas is an angel and we've got Dorian for backup."

"What's Dorian going to do, sneer at them?" asked Dean.

Dorian gave him a look that said he wondered why he'd taken the time to give him any advice.

"Selkies control the weather," Castiel ground out, as an explanation.

Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"They do?" he asked.

"Yes," said Leah, helping Castiel get into position. "And if you studied like your brother, you'd already know that."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms, feeling out of his depth. 

But he saw Castiel look over at him for a moment, and a rare smile cross his face. Dean suddenly felt warm all over, and had to restrain himself from giggling like a teenage idiot.

"Okay," said Sam. "I think we're ready. Places, please."

Everyone melted back into the shadows.

Castiel stood in the gathering darkness, beneath the warm golden light of the sodium lamp, looking strangely small and alone.

There was a strange sound, of scraping and crawling, just down the alleyway out of sight.

Dean put his hand on his gun - or would have, if he'd been allowed to have it here.

He put his hand on the angel blade instead.


	12. One Night in Edinburgh

A man, or a man that was more than half-monster, came crawling and snarling out of the darkness.

Dean lifted the angel blade.

Sam put his hand on Dean's arm, and shook his head minutely. Then nodded in Dorian's direction.

The thin seal-man stood there, both hands on the ball of his cane. His great brown eyes rolled over ocean-blue. 

The clouds roiled above, and thunder boomed through the night. The creature reached for Cas.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, when a lightning strike illuminated the world.

It struck the monster and burned it to ash.

Dorian's eyes rolled back again. Dean looked at him, and nodded in appreciation.

"That's Dr. Jekyll down," said Leah. "One to go."

They didn't have long to wait. Two men skulked out of the shadows, looking for a body.

"Now!" Leah said, and Dean threw the angel blade. One of the men went down. 

The other approached the body, and made the mistake of getting a little too close to Castiel. 

Cas made short work of him with his own angel blade.

"The layers have fallen away," said Dorian. "The Campbell curse is the last of these."

"How are we meant to defeat the curse of the Campbells?" asked Sam.

"By helping a MacDonald," said a small voice.

They turned to see a young boy around fifteen or sixteen.

"Are you American?" asked Leah. The boy shook his head.

"Scottish."

Dorian and Leah exchanged a look, and shrugged their shoulders.

"What's your name?" Dorian asked.

"Stuart MacDonald," said the boy. "I didn't mean for it to happen!"

"You might begin by telling us what _it_ is," said Leah.

The boy wordlessly handed her a playing card.

The nine of diamonds.

"The curse of Scotland," said Leah.

***

Everyone looked at her, and she launched into an explanation.

"The massacre at Glencoe was mostly caused by the Dalrymple Earl of Stair," she said. "He had nine diamonds on his family crest. He also hated the Glencoe MacDonalds, so even though their chieftain, Iain, walked sixty miles through ice and snow to swear fealty to the king, and Alasdair MacDonnell of Glengarry openly flouted the request, the Earl of Stair saw this as an opportunity to settle things with an old rival. The rest, as they say, is history, and ever since then the nine of diamonds has been called the curse of Scotland."

"Okay, that makes sense," said Sam. "But I don't see how it relates to us."

The boy stepped forward.

"If you are who I think you are," he said, "you are the only ones who can put it right. I asked for American cowboys, to help me fight the evil monsters taking over Edinburgh. You're cowboys, right?"

The boy looked up at them with shining eyes. Dean grinned from ear to ear while Sam stuttered.

"Yes, we are cowboys," grated Castiel, coming up to the group. "Dean made me wear a hat."

"And damn good you looked in it, too," said Dean.

"Let's focus," said Leah. "Can you tell us what happened, Stuart? How did this all start?"

Stuart sighed.

"I was studying Scottish history," he said. "At school. Then all these strange things started happening around me, and my da was always on about how he could never trust a Campbell, and things from stories started to come to life. All bad things though. I thought maybe Greyfriars Bobby would come to life, but so far it's only been bad things."

"Do you know why it started?" asked Dorian. Stuart nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Well, I think so? I found an old book, with a lot of writing in it, and there was a spell to make your dreams come true."

"Never a good idea," said Dorian, as if he were speaking from experience.

"Can we see the book?" asked Sam. Stuart nodded, and went towards the wall. He pulled it out of his backpack and was about to hand it to Sam.

"I'll take that, thank you _very_ much," came another voice. 

" _Rowena?_ " asked Sam, startled. Rowena's red hair glowed in the sodium light as she smiled up at Sam.

"Yes, my dear boy," she said. "Children shouldn't play with these things, they're dangerous."

She looked like she was about to leave when Sam grabbed her arm.

"My goodness, Samuel," she said. "Aren't you a strong one?"

"Can you reverse it?" he asked. "The spell."

Rowena looked up, considering.

"I can," she said. "Under one condition."

"What's that?" asked Dean, suspicious. 

"That you give me this boy to train," she said. "He clearly has the makings of a powerful witch."

"Over my dead body," said Dean.

"Not a problem," said Rowena.

Dorian stepped forward.

"If the way to break the spell, and the curse of the Campbells, is for Campbells to help a MacDonald," he reasoned, "perhaps this is just the opportunity you've been looking for."

Sam, Dean, and Cas exchanged glances.

"She has a point," said Cas.

"Yeah, all right," said Dean. "But the first _whiff_ of evil, and I'm going to be his worst nightmare."

Rowena clearly made an effort not to roll her eyes.

"Very well," she said. "Agreed. Now, I have many things to do, places to go, you know how it is. Come along, Stuart."

And she offered her hand. Stuart took it, then turned and smiled at them.

"Thank you," he said.

"The curse is broken," said Rowena. "Maybe you boys will have better luck from now on. Hm. Maybe it's why you've had such bad luck so far."

She shrugged.

"Anyway, gotta run. Toodles!"

And she was gone.

***

"I don't feel any different," said Dean, as they boarded the train back to Glasgow.

"Me neither," said Sam.

"I don't think that it's something you'll be able to feel," said Castiel. "But maybe Rowena is right, and you'll find our luck is changing."

Leah and Dorian sat down. As the train set off, and the woman with the trolley came down the aisle, they ordered tea and coffee respectively.

"Ah, what the hell," said Dean, and ordered tea with milk.

He was astounded to discover he actually liked it.

***

"Thank you for your help," said Dorian. "I would like to keep in touch, just in case we need your help in the future."

"Done," said Dean.

Leah and Sam were saying their own goodbyes, mostly via kissing.

"Don't be a stranger," she told Sam, who looked like someone had hit him directly between the eyes with a brick.

"I'm - you - yeah," said Sam intelligently. "Yeah, I will."

She kissed him again soundly, and raised a hand. There was a bright glow around it, and they all found themselves back in the forest.

"Farewell," said Dorian. "Until we meet again."

Leah waved at Sam, who turned bright red. 

And then they vanished.

The forest was dark, and they were alone, back home in America.


	13. American Cowboys

"So, Leah," said Dean, walking down the stairs carrying bags and boxes as the door clanged shut behind him. 

"Shut up," said Sam, who was sitting at the map table in the bunker. "Did you get - "

"Yeah, yeah, I got your weird vegetable pizza," said Dean, "and low-carb beer. Honestly, I have no idea how you're my brother."

Dean set everything down on the table and cracked open a beer.

"I just think we could use some supernatural help," said Sam.

"Uh huh," he said. "That's why you were Skyping for like 5 hours last night?"

"Shut up," said Sam again, blushing to the roots of his hair.

Castiel walked out into the room. Dean choked on his beer.

"Still wearing the kilt?" asked Sam.

"I find it freeing," Castiel said. Dean tried some kind of nodding and looking-cool combination that landed flat.

"And Dean finds it attractive."

Dean had a full-on coughing fit while Sam stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

How could that kid keep his eyebrow up that long? Must be years of working it out, thought Dean, as he tried to get some air into his lungs.

Castiel put a hand on his back and healed him.

"Is that really a good use of your powers?" squeaked Dean hoarsely.

Cas gave him that Angel of the Lord glare.

"You're no good to me dead," he said.

"All right, all right," said Sam. "Let's keep the mating dance to a minimum."

Castiel turned to look at Sam.

"What mating dance?" he asked. "I haven't even shown Dean my wings yet."

The thoughts _Castiel + kilt + wings_ made a clear trip across Dean's features.

"Gross, Dean," said Sam. "The point is, we've got other people to save."

"Yeah," said Dean. "What's up?"

"You'll like this one," said Sam. "Mysterious occurrences on a Wild West movie set."

Dean punched the air. 

"Yeah!" he said. "That's what I'm talking about."

Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"So we gonna head out?" he asked.

Dean looked at Cas. 

He grabbed his hand, and held it tight.

"Yes, we are," he said. "After all, we're American cowboys."

"I'm not American," said Castiel. Dean squeezed his hand.

"Close enough," he said. "You're a Winchester. That's as American as it gets."

Sam grinned.

"First, let's eat," he said. "Then I'll go start the car."

They sat down together at the table, and flipped open the pizza boxes. They drank beer and talked about Scotland, and the future, and the things they had seen.

And during the entire dinner, Dean never let Castiel's hand go.

Because he was brave. Because he was cool. Because liking men didn't make him less of one.

Because he was an American cowboy, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! This one was harder than I thought it would be. I initially thought these two universes would work together, but I found it difficult because they are so different in tone. Well, it was an experiment! I hope you enjoyed it anyway :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
